The Wishing Stone
by The Daydream Catcher
Summary: The story of the Girl Who Lived. Holly Potter is captured by the enigmatic Severus Snape. A precious magical item, called a wishing stone, sends them both hurtling back in time. Post HBP.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**The Wishing Stone  
****Chapter 1**

It was storming hard. Icy rain fell from the sky with brutal force, numbing every part of his body it came in contact with. The wind whipped around him with equal harshness. It seemed to howl in his ears, almost completely blocking out the blood-curling screams coming from the center of the semi-circle he was standing in, along with twenty or so other men. Lightning flashed brightly in the dark night sky, which was void of any stars, of any beauty. It held only coldness, a coldness that spread throughout all who had the displeasure of standing beneath it.

All in all, the weather reflected his mood perfectly: bitter and malicious. He did not want to be there. He wasn't looking forward to bowing and sniveling upon the muddy ground like a bloody house-elf, like filth. He did not want to be reminded of how he had efficiently ruined his life with his rash decisions. He did not want to be associated with the fools who thought him to be an ally. In fact, he wished he could strike out at them for the crimes they had committed, and for the crimes they forced him to participate in.

But he didn't indulge upon his secret desire. He stood silently as the vicious rain pierced his skin. The revulsion he felt towards the situation he found himself in was well concealed behind a white mask. Only his black eyes were visible through the two slits it donned. No one could see the sneer upon his face or the distasteful way his upper lip curled towards the heavens. No one knew of the treacherous thoughts running through his mind, buried deep beneath heavy layers of Occlumency.

They were all far too foolish for their own good, far too arrogant and presumptuous to see the traitor among their midst, listening to their secrets and memorizing their plans. After years and years of suspicion, they thought they finally had him all figured out. Thought for sure that the man who murdered 'The Great Albus Dumbledore' couldn't possibly be on any other side than the Dark Lord's.

How wrong they were. He didn't belong to the Dark Side, hadn't in a very long time, and the fact that there were those who thought otherwise just proved to reinforce what a good spy he was. Too good, he often found himself thinking. After he had murdered Dumbledore, the mere memory of which weighed heavily upon his conscience and often brought him up short of breath, the Dark Lord had embraced him with open arms. Snape was praised above all of the other Death Eaters.

The Light Side, however, the side he had spent twenty year working undercover for, and the side he was still willing to continue risking his life for, had cursed him and turned him away with no more than a contemptuous sneer. He had brought it upon himself, really. With his inability to see past his own pain he had efficiently gotten himself caught between two completely different worlds, stuck where he wished he had never gone to begin with, and dying to return to a place where his name was now spoken with scorn and hatred.

But that was how Dumbledore had wanted it, and despite how completely mad and pointless he had thought the plan was when he first heard it, he had followed through with Dumbledore's orders. He had murdered his mentor, the only person he had ever had reason to depend on and respect, and in the process tricked the Dark Lord, all of his followers, and all of the Order into thinking he was the most devoted Death Eater alive. But Dumbledore's plan went deeper than that. It was by far the biggest, most twisted, not to mention altogether dangerous scheme he had ever put into practice, the most risky portion of it scheduled to take place that very night.

The kidnapping of Holly Potter.

It sounded ridiculous, even in his thoughts. But it was essential to the twisted plot Dumbledore had organized before his death. He had to make it seem like the girl had simply disappeared during the night, leaving no trace as to where she had gone, and leaving nothing to suggest that Potter hadn't left on her own accord.

Then he would hide the child in his house out in Spinner's End, somewhere no one would ever think to look for her. That was where the ingeniousness of Dumbledore's plan came to light. The Dark Lord had no reason to distrust his loyalty, not after he had murdered the greatest Light wizard the world had ever seen. It would never even cross his mind that his favorite servant was hiding Holly Potter, Dumbledore's golden child. As for the Light Side, not one of them knew his house in Spinner's End even existed.

So away from prying eyes, where no one would ever think to look for them, he would do as Dumbledore had told him. He would teach the girl everything he knew about the Dark Arts as well as every skill he had picked up during his many years as a spy. He would prepare Potter for her inevitable battle with the Dark Lord and with the knowledge Dumbledore had left him, help her search for the last Horcruxes, so that Voldemort could finally be destroyed.

And all the while he would be listening to the Death Eaters' plots in the inner-circle, waiting for a time when the Dark Lord finally forgot about The-Girl-Who-Lived and moved on to trying to rid the world of dirty blood. Only then, when the child was finally ready and the Dark Lord wholly unprepared, would he let Potter come out of hiding and surprise the magical world with the power and skills she had gained during the time she had, as far as anyone knew, simply disappeared.

The plan seemed absolutely perfect, and yet, at the same time frighteningly risky. So many things could go wrong. There were so many times that he doubted his ability to pull the manipulation off. And that doubt made him nervous like he had never been before. If this scam wasn't done precisely right, if he was revealed to be a spy, Dumbledore's death would have been in vain and Potter would likely fail. So much responsibility was resting on his shoulders that he often found it surprising he could stand up straight.

It didn't help that he couldn't get the memory of Dumbledore's death out of his head. He couldn't help but remember the look of absolute desperation on the Headmaster's face when he had delivered the dreaded Killing Curse. He couldn't help but think of the way the man had pleaded with him, searching for mercy of some sort deep in his eyes. It had almost seemed like Dumbledore had changed his mind about the plan and was suddenly eager to live.

But that was absurd.

If Dumbledore had changed his mind and had no longer wanted Severus to go through with the murder, he would have stopped him. But he just hovered there, in the Astronomy Tower, looking frail and tired. In an effort to stop the all-consuming guilt he had felt afterwards, he had decided that the desperation must have been another act from the old wizard. Dumbledore had just been making sure that Draco and the other Death Eaters were fooled. He had wanted it to appear like he'd really been bested, wanted there to be no doubt in anyone's mind that Severus Snape was as evil a Death Eater as they came.

Unfortunately, if that was what Dumbledore had intended to portray, he did it all too well. For somehow, Holly Potter had discovered that he had been the one to kill the Headmaster, and believed him to be as evil, if not more so, than the Dark Lord himself. That was _not_ part of the plan. No one on the Light side was supposed to have suspected him of the murder and, quite frankly, he could not understand how they had found out. No one was up there in the tower to see the act played out. No one should have known. But the fact that Potter did would make the rest of the plan much harder to complete.

The girl would no doubt put up a fight when he arrived at her Muggle relatives' house to collect her, and even more-so when they reached his house in Spinner's End. After all, Potter hated and distrusted him with a passion almost too strong for words. She had no reason to go with him willingly. She had no reason to stay with him voluntarily. He knew he would have to keep a close watch on her for a while, at least until he earned her trust; until he knew for certain she wouldn't run away if given the chance.

The problem was: he had no idea how he would go about obtaining her trust when their past history was as warped and tainted as theirs was. And if that trust couldn't be gathered, and he couldn't convince Potter that he wasn't a demon hell-bent on burning Muggles alive, well then, not only would he run the risk of her escaping, but he would be unable to teach her Occlumency. It required a certain degree of trust between the teacher and student, which was most likely why the lessons they'd had together two years earlier had gone so badly. If Potter was unable to close her mind, the Dark Lord would have access to her thoughts, and would know where she was staying. And then the whole plan would be shot. So, of course he was nervous and figured he had every right to be. Especially considering where he was at the moment and what he was watching happen.

He was at an inner-circle Death Eater meeting, the third one that week, watching as Lucius Malfoy took his turn spelling fire charms onto a young Muggle child whose screams had long since grown hoarse, and whose spilled blood had long ago turned a dirty reddish-brown color.

He was beyond thankful that the white mask he was wearing hid the disgusted expression contorting his face as the smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils, and even gladder for the harsh wind that carried the smell away from him, despite the unbearable cold it was bringing to his soaking body. He was too far away from the water-repellent fire to gather any warmth from it and, quite frankly, found the thought of enjoying something that was causing another such great pain, unbearable.

At least it would be over soon. He had seen enough of these types of tortures in the last week to be able to distinguish when they were coming to an end. The child's screams had become nearly non-existent, growing weaker and weaker every second. Shortly the young boy would lose the strength to yell altogether and then it would only be a matter of minutes before his body burned completely to ash.

It was a sickening thing to watch, he found, topped only by the horrifying feeling he got when he was forced to participate. He would rather be forced to watch the murder of just this one child though, than go out on a full raid to some random Muggle city. Those were always the worst; unbearably, indescribably worse, as well as entirely too long. Or, maybe it just felt that way after seeing a full night's worth of terrors to horrible for words.

"Sseveruss," came the Dark Lord's cold, high-pitched voice, somehow both a hiss and a screech, simultaneously. It cut its way through the violent night storm to his ears with an ease only a creature like the Dark Lord could accomplish. "Take your turn."

Damn. He had been hoping to avoid participating tonight. He had participated plenty the night before. It didn't look like fate was on his side, however. He stepped forward from his spot in the semi-circle, around the Dark Lord and the poor Muggle boy, as Lucius stepped back. Leveling his wand at the slumped figure glittering under the magical green flames, he incanted, "_Aeternus Cremo._"

The flames rose in height as more magical energy was added to the fire. He had to physically restrain himself from taking a step backward, away from the flames, when a strong waft of whatever remained of the boy's body reached his nose. He felt like he was going to be sick, and only by sheer will did he avoid it.

He hated doing this, hated having to act so vicious and heartless. He would surely have nightmares again tonight, this time of the little boy who was practically melting in front of him. It was awful and stomach-churning and he couldn't believe he had once condoned this behavior. He hated having to join in the 'fun' as the Dark Lord called it, and during the first war he had done a masterful job of avoiding it. But not now…this was the Dark Lord's way of rewarding him for murdering Dumbledore. He got to participate more frequently in the raids and tortures, a privilege any _loyal_ Death Eater would be honored to have. It was ironic, he thought sardonically, watching as the last of the boy's remains turned to ash, that he would have to be the one blessed with such wonderful benefits.

Half an hour later, being sure to avoid the pile of residue that was left over from the poor Muggle child, he made his way to the Apparation point, glad that for once the Dark Lord hadn't stopped him for a chat. He was in desperate need of several long showers and a stomach calming draught. And then he would be off to Surrey, eager to get the most difficult put of the plan over and done with, with as much ease as possible. He didn't truly believe it would be effortless, however. For some reason he didn't think Potter would be too happy to see him.

--

It was hard to believe that the previous summer in Little Whinging had been so unbearable because of the heat. Holly Potter would have given anything to have just a little piece of that warmth back; _anything_ to be able to feel something other than the cold numbness that was settling over her entire body. But no, despite her desperate pleas for the rain the let up, it continued to grow, if possible, even more aggressive.

It was the third time that summer she had found herself in this predicament, both the front and back doors of number four Privet Drive locked, the key missing, and all of the windows barred shut. The first time it had happened she had grudgingly accepted her Uncles excuses and had allowed it to be called an accident. The second time it happened she had been more skeptical but in the end decided it had just been, once again, a mistake. But for it to happen three times? It could no longer be called an accident or a mistake. It was a cruel joke. A punishment of sorts devised by her sadistic relatives.

They were most likely sitting around the fireplace, drinking warm cups of hot chocolate, laughing at her expense. She could just picture them, sharing amused glances as she pounded on the door with all of her might. It truly sickened her to think that anyone could be so cruel. Didn't they know how cold she was? Her teeth were chattering so violently that she thought her jaw would break, and her entire body shook with tremors. Did they even care?

No, she answered herself. They didn't care, they never had, and they never would. And that was precisely why she didn't feel bad about what she was about to do: break a window to get back inside. What did she care if it cost the Dursley's time and money to fix it? If they hadn't locked her out in the first place, it wouldn't have been an issue. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more appealing it sounding to Holly.

The question was: which window should she break?

--

Severus Snape was not happy. He was wet. He was cold. And he couldn't find Holly Potter. It was the latter that irritated him the most. In all the times he had gone over the plan in his mind, trying to imagine everything that could possible go wrong, he had never once envisioned a situation where Potter was simply missing. How could he have foreseen this? He was still having trouble coming to terms with it.

He had checked downstairs, had checked the living room, the kitchen, the dining area. A quick peek in the upstairs bedrooms had shown him three large blanket covered lumps that he had identified as Potter's relatives. Her bedroom, unfortunately, had proven itself to be empty. The bathroom was unoccupied. The hallway was silent. He was tempted to check the linen closets and the cupboards out of shear desperation. In fact, in his panicked state, he had already decided to check the kitchen pantry. He was headed to do just that when he heard a loud crash come from downstairs. The source of the crash, though he knew it shouldn't have shocked him, caused him a moments pause.

Holly Potter stood a wet, shaking mess in the middle of the living room. Glass lay shattered at her feet. Behind her, the wind and rain poured in though the jagged edges of a broken window.

"Quite an entrance, Potter." He told her honestly, from the foot of the stairs. Her face jerked upwards in surprise, and her eyes searched hopelessly for the source of his voice. He was hidden underneath an invisibility cloak that Dumbledore had given him. A parting gift, he had called it. Severus whipped it off and immediately her face contorted with rage and disbelief. In her eyes he could read exactly what she was thinking: she would have been better off outside in the pouring rain.

**TBC**

Authors Notes: So, we haven't quite gotten to the part about the wishing stone, which I know your all probably wondering about (it is the title, after all) but I imagine we'll touch on that next chapter. For now, what do you think about Holly Potter? I've been wanting to write a fic with a girl-Harry for a while, but I was hesitant to do so because I didn't want her to be Mary-Sueish. I think Holly is canon-like so far though, and I'm going to do all I can to keep her that way.

On another note, some of you may recognize the beginning of the fic. I previously posted a story titled Deception in its Deepest, which started out the same. I took it in a completely different direction however, and realized after a few chapters that I didn't like the way it was going. So ... I reworked it and came up with this.

Anyway, please review if you enjoyed.


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